


Wants

by fructosebat



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 10:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18602959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fructosebat/pseuds/fructosebat
Summary: Missing scene. 8x02 feels that needed to get out of my brain.“You’re Lady of Winterfell now. Lady Stark. Not Bolton.”Sansa’s lips twitched up a little. “Yes.”





	Wants

**Author's Note:**

> My first GoT fic. Unbeta'd. Be gentle?

For a time, they just ate their stew in silence, the yard of Winterfell busy with people of all classes supping and chattering. Occasionally the pair’s eyes would meet across the table. Finally, Sansa spoke.  


“I thought of you,” she confessed, and Theon looked up from his bowl.  


“You, too,” he admitted. After a lengthy pause and another bite of soup, he continued, “You’re Lady of Winterfell now. Lady Stark. Not Bolton.”  


Sansa’s lips twitched up a little. “Yes.”  


“When we—” he cut himself off, then tried again. “When Ramsay. When we were—he broke us.” Sansa nodded reluctantly, solemn. “But you’re strong now. Stronger.”  


Theon’s eyes flickered back down to his bowl, but Sansa leaned down to catch his eyes, not letting him look away. “We both are.”  


They held gazes for a moment before Theon said, “You got Arya back, Jon, Bran. What about Rickon?”  


Sansa’s face went hard. “Ramsay killed Rickon. He killed Shaggydog first, and then he made Jon watch him kill Rickon.”  


“Did Jon kill Ramsay?”  


“No,” said Sansa with great satisfaction. “I did.”  


Something fierce lit Theon’s eyes for a moment. “Good.”  


Sansa returned to the broth that remained of her stew, but it had gone cold. She stood, and collected Theon’s empty bowl from him, and they both paced over to return the utensils to the food table.  


“Lots of memories here,” remarked Theon, wandering towards a corner of the yard. Sansa followed. “In Winterfell. Mostly bad. Started out here. Only fitting to end here.”  


“Nothing’s ending here but the army of the dead,” chided Sansa with false confidence.  


“What I did here,” he began, plucking at his glove with its two empty fingers, “the horrible things I did here, Sansa, I can never expect to make amends, but I—I hope I can at least defend your brother from the—from. I can’t—”  


“I forgive you,” interrupted Sansa.  


He looked up at her, stricken. “You can’t possibly mean that. What I did—”  


“Was terrible. Truly, awfully abominable. I agree.” She raised her eyebrows. “And I forgive you. I know why you did it.”  


“How could you know?” he demanded, then, realizing his voice was louder than expected, glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention. There weren’t many remaining in the yard – it had grown cold as the night drew on, and servants were packing the food up to take it inside. Lower, then, Theon repeated, “How could you know?”  


“I know a lot of things,” said Sansa. “I’ve learned. I’ve had to. And I’ve learned about being a hostage.”  


At this, he flinched and looked away. “I should get to the Godswood and see to the Ironborn.”  


“I’ll walk you there,” she said.  


“It’s not safe,” he protested.  


“I’ll walk you,” Sansa insisted, and took his arm. They both thought back to the time she would not do so. Tentatively, Theon covered her gloved hand with his. They walked. After a few minutes, Sansa asked, “What do you want, Theon?”  


His brow creased as he peered at her sidelong. “Want?”  


“From life?”  


“I want...to...” He blew out a breath that steamed in the frigid air. “...to fight for Winterfell.”  


“If we— _when_ we’ve beaten the Night King,” Sansa asked, “what do you want, then? I know what you wanted when you took Winterfell. I want to know what you want for— _after_.”  


“I want...” The sound of their footsteps echoed as they crossed under the archway that would lead them to the Godswood. “I want to be safe. And for the people I care about to be safe.”  


“That’s what I want,” said Sansa fervently. “That’s what I’ve _always_ wanted, since I went South and the whole world fell apart. Sometimes it was the only thought I could have in a day. _Safe. Everyone, safe._ But like I said, I’ve learned. We can’t ever be safe. There’s no such thing as safe.  


“But when you saved me from the Boltons—”  


Theon dropped her hand, stepping back. “I didn’t save you!”  


“Fine!” Sansa admitted, quietly, stepping closer to him again. “We saved each other.”  


“How could _I_ save _you_? _You’re_ the strong one,” he asserted, and Sansa let a smile touch her lips.  


“But after we escaped, when I got back to Jon,” she said, “I couldn’t just want _the family, safe_ for myself anymore. I had to want Winterfell back, for the North. Then once we had Winterfell back, I had to _want_ the whole North safe from the white walkers. But, do you know,” said Sansa, shaking her head, her long hair shifting against the fur of her coat, “I don’t think I’ve _wanted_ one thing just for me since I was 13 years old? So yes. I want the North, safe. And I want the North, independent, and I want so many things for the _North_ , and for my _family_. But for _me,_ I _want—_ ”  


Theon lunged forward, clasping Sansa’s hands between his and pressing his lips to hers. That’s all it was, just a press of lips, their breaths mingling. Abruptly, he pulled away and they stared at each other, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. Then Sansa let herself be pulled by the arm swiftly in amongst the trees, and once they were safely concealed Theon reached for her again.  


Sansa fisted her hands in his hair, and Theon didn’t quite know where to put his hands, so one touched lightly to Sansa’s waist and the other stayed, shaking, in the air near her arm as they kissed properly this time, lips soft against each other’s.  


Then the horns sounded. They both startled.  


Theon pulled back, gasping. “You need to get to the crypt. I—the Ironborn— _Bran_ —”  


He made as if to leave, but Sansa wasn’t letting him go. “You come back,” she said fiercely.  


Theon pulled Sansa’s hands down to rest between them, clasping them in his. “I can’t promise that, Sansa.”  


She pulled him towards her, kissing him once again, horns sounding loudly in their ears. They parted, breathing harshly. “You _come back,_ ” she said.  


Theon squeezed her hands once, nodded, and took off at a run deeper into the Godswood. Sansa watched him go, then turned, and hurried to the crypt.


End file.
